


Wretched

by convallaria_majalis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, Choking, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, M/M, NOT safe/sane/consensual kink, Stockholm Syndrome, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 11:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17344847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convallaria_majalis/pseuds/convallaria_majalis
Summary: Maul takes some time to enjoy his property.





	Wretched

Lord Maul stalked down the long corridor, his durasteel prosthetics ringing out against the hard floor. On his face was a smile that, if there had been anyone to see it, might have read as slightly unhinged. But the place was deserted, and Maul only had himself and his thoughts. Before long he turned abruptly and stopped before a strong, windowless door.

It had been a good day. An excellent day. An auspicious day, even. And now he was going to reward himself. His lips twitched as he thought of what was waiting for him behind the heavy door.

Maul pressed his palm against the scanner and stepped into the concrete cell that was Obi-Wan Kenobi's whole world.

He said nothing, as the door hissed closed behind him; on these occasions Maul preferred to simply stand still, and observe.

Kenobi was sat on what passed for a bed, elbows leaning on his knees with his head hanging down. A thick durasteel collar hung around his neck, connected by an equally heavy chain to a bolt in the center of the floor.

Maul's old enemy. It pleased him greatly to know that for the past three years, Kenobi had lived his life in chains.

Even better, that was _all_ he wore. No armor, no robes. Not a stitch of cloth to protect him—or to hide how his body reacted when he looked up and saw Maul.

Maul's lips curled into a snarl. With the Force he reached out, dragging Kenobi off the bed and throwing him to his knees at Maul's feet. He wrapped the chain around one hand, yanking cruelly at the collar.

"Kenobi," he growled.

"Lord Maul," Kenobi replied, his breathing strained. "Back so soon?"

Maul had no use for conversation—not now, and not with _him._ "Shut up," he ordered. One hand gripped Kenobi's jaw tightly; with the other, he forced two fingers into Kenobi's mouth.

Maul grinned. It was absolutely _fascinating:_ a Jedi Master, a former general in the Republic army, and he had the mouth of a whore. To be sure, there had been training in the years since Maul captured him—but really, so _little_ training. The desire to be used had been inside Kenobi long before Maul came on the scene.

And this proved it: Kenobi on his knees, flushed and moaning at the press of fingers at the back of his throat.

Maul felt a flash of anger. He reached for the cabinet on the wall, the cabinet that only his fingerprint could open. In it he kept all manner of things to use on Kenobi—whips and gags and clever little toys—but what he pulled out now was a long thick dildo, the kind that most sentients would find fairly intimidating. He pulled out his fingers and stuffed Kenobi's mouth full.

"Take it," Maul snarled, shoving his palm against the base. "Take it, since you want it so much."

And the infuriating thing was that he _could._ Kenobi shuddered, choked noises coming from his throat, but he didn't resist. In fact he pressed closer, until Maul knew the thing was so deep in his throat that he wasn't breathing at all.

Now _that_ was something to look at. Maul's anger retreated. His hand was firm on the back of Kenobi's neck, preventing him from backing off...

And Maul waited.

Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

It was terribly interesting: the less air he was allowed, the harder Kenobi got. Maul watched his cock twitch, even as panic welled up in his eyes and his chest spasmed with the need to breathe. He knew from experience that Kenobi would let Maul keep him here until he lost consciousness.

"You're pathetic," Maul mused. "What sort of Jedi craves this? What sort of human gets off on being tortured?" He pressed against the base of the dildo, soft little thrusts, and watched the tears pooling at the corners of Kenobi's eyes. "If I had known you had such a need for debasement, our little encounter on Naboo might have gone _very differently—"_

He found himself snarling the end of the sentence, throwing Kenobi gasping and choking to the floor. Out of the cabinet he grabbed a whip, the kind that stung and drew blood with just a flick of the wrist. He turned back to Kenobi, trying to recover on his hands and knees, and cracked the whip in the air.

Kenobi scrabbled backward, crawling away from Maul until the chain ran out. Maul knew that he knew this whip, that he was running as much from the memory as from present fear.

That was good. He wanted Kenobi afraid. He wanted him to hurt.

"This is what you deserve," Maul hissed. He flicked the thin, evil whip, not much caring where it landed so long as it made Kenobi cringe and cry out; the sound was better than salve on a wound. "Supposing I was the victor then, Jedi? Would I have cut you in two and left you to die? Or would I have captured you then, made you want me, fucked you sore and hoarse on the floor of my shuttle?"

Kenobi made a small, broken noise. He hid his face in his arms, trying to protect it from Maul's relentless stings. But he couldn't protect everything.

There were rules about whips, Maul knew, about where you could hit a person without causing permanent damage. _I am not bound by those,_ he thought, as a strike licked the soft inside of Kenobi's thigh. _Rules are for those who care if they break their toys._

He remembered fondly when Kenobi had caught the whip in his eye, blinding him for weeks. Or, even better, the time when it had coiled snakelike around his throat—and the mixed fear and arousal in his face when Maul had only grabbed it and wrapped it tighter. Even now the memory made him lightheaded.

He still felt it. That was the thing: losing his body at the waist didn't take away the desire, the phantom ache between his legs that could never and would never be relieved. It should have been _his_ cock forced down Kenobi's throat, _his_ pleasure at the expense of Kenobi's breath. But that would never happen—and the only thing that came close to satisfying him now was making sure Kenobi's humiliation was absolute.

Maul looked down at him, shaking and helpless on the floor. He lifted Kenobi bodily with the Force and tossed him onto his back on the hard bed.

"Please," he breathed. "Lord Maul, please."

Maul stalked forward. Kenobi's pale skin was striped red, thin angry lines that Maul knew would draw a gasp and a curse if he touched them.

"Are you beaten?" he asked, looming over Kenobi's body.

"Yes."

"What do you ask of me?"

Kenobi's breath caught, and he looked away. "Mercy."

Maul shoved a hand between Kenobi's legs and closed it, clawlike. His wrist twisted. Kenobi cried out, back arching with the pain.

"Wretch," Maul said through clenched teeth. "I do not grant mercy. Where was the mercy you should have shown to me?"

Kenobi sobbed softly, tears squeezing out of his tightly shut eyes. But under Maul's hand he was hot and hard as iron.

Desire, Maul considered, was a ridiculous thing. It started wars, ended friendships, led sexual beings to all manner of stupidity. And here was Kenobi, willingly submitting to the crushing pressure of Maul's grip because he knew that at the end of it he might be allowed release.

"I see now that you did me a favor, Kenobi," he said. "I would never allow myself to be used like this. But you desire it. You need it. I thank the force that I have never been _disgusting_ like you."

Maul leaned closer, making sure he would be heard over Kenobi's ragged breathing.

"Do you want to come?"

Staring blankly at the wall, Kenobi nodded.

Maul struck him across the face. "Look at me. _Do you want to come?"_

Kenobi dragged his blue eyes to Maul's. "Yes," he moaned, writhing in Maul's grip.

"Filth," Maul whispered. Kenobi twitched against his hand.

In a way, Maul held every part of his enemy. Two small pieces of flesh—but so important, and capable of causing so much pain.

"So vulnerable," Maul murmured. "Shall I get out my saber, little Jedi? Pay you back for what you did years ago? I'd like to—but without _these,_ you'd cease to amuse me. I can't imagine I'd let you live long."

He squeezed harder. Kenobi whimpered.

"Or I could leave you as you are," Maul continued. "I have everything I need to torment you for the rest of your natural life."

Kenobi's body jerked. "Please," he sobbed, and Maul felt him come in pathetic little spurts over his knuckles. "Please. _Please."_

Maul grinned. He didn't know which outcome Kenobi was begging for—and it delighted him, because it didn't matter. Nothing Kenobi wanted mattered.

Not anymore.


End file.
